Days of Air and Darkness - Katharine Kerr [9]
“What’s so wrong?” Rhodry whispered.
“They’re all thieves.”
“Ye gods! Do you mean we’re drinking in a—”
“Shush, you dolt!”
“My apologies, but why are we—”
“Not so loud! What other tavern in Caenmetyn is going to serve a pair of silver daggers? It’s a fancy sort of town, my love.”
Rhodry studied the crowd and scowled. Even in a black mood, when Rhodry was young (and he was barely one-and-twenty that year), his elven blood was obvious to those who knew how to look; his face, handsome all through his life, was so finely drawn in those days, with a full mouth and deep-set eyes, that it would have seemed girlish if it weren’t for the nicks and scars from old fighting.
“Which way shall we ride tomorrow?” he said at last. “I’ve got to find a hire soon.”
“True enough, because we’re blasted low on coin. You should be able to find a caravan leaving here, though.”
“Ah, by the black hairy ass of the Lord of Hell! I’d rather find some lord with a feud going and ride a war. I’m as sick as I can be of playing nursemaid to stinking merchants and their stinking mules! I’m a warrior born and bred, not a wretched horseherder!”
“How can you be sick of it? You’ve only ever guarded one caravan in your life.”
When he scowled again, she let the subject drop.
Oddly enough, about an hour later, someone offered Rhodry a very different type of hire. Jill was keeping a watch on the door when she saw a man slip into the tavern room. All muffled in a gray cloak, with the hood up against the chill of a spring night, he was stout, on the tallish side. When he approached the table, the hood slipped, giving Jill a glimpse of blue eyes and a face handsome in a weak sort of way.
“I heard there was a silver dagger in town.” He spoke with a rolling Cerrmor accent. “I might have a hire for you, lad.”
“Indeed?” Rhodry gestured at the bench on the opposite side of the table. “Sit down, good sir.”
He took the seat, then studied them both for a moment, his eyes flicking to Jill, as if her standing while he sat made him nervous. Since he was wearing striped brigga and an expensive linen shirt under the cloak, she figured he might be a prosperous craftsman, perhaps a man who made incense for the temples, judging by the scent that lingered around him. All at once, Jill’s gray gnome popped into manifestation on the table. He had his skinny arms crossed over his narrow chest, and his long-nosed face was set in a disapproving glare for the stranger, who of course saw nothing. The stranger leaned forward in a waft of Bardek cinnamon.
“I have an enemy, you see,” he whispered. “He’s insulted me, mocked me, dared me to stop him, and he knows blasted well that I’ve got no skill with a blade. I’ll pay very high for proof of his death.”
“Oh, indeed?” Rhodry’s dark blue eyes flashed with rage. “I’m no paid murderer. If you want to challenge him to an honor duel and formally choose me for your champion, I might take you up on it, but only if this fellow can fight and fight well.”
Biting his lip hard, the stranger glanced round. The gnome stuck out its tongue at him, then disappeared.
“An honor duel’s impossible. He, uh, well, won’t respond to my challenge.”
“Then I’m not your man.”
“Ah, but they always say that silver daggers have their price. Two gold pieces.”
Jill nearly choked on her ale. Two gold pieces would buy a prosperous farm and its livestock as well.
“I wouldn’t do it for a thousand,” Rhodry snapped. “But at that price, doubtless you’ll find someone else to do your murdering for you.”
The fellow rose and dashed for the door, as if the dolt had just realized that he’d said too much to a perfect stranger. Jill noticed one of the thieves, a slender fellow with a shock of mousy-brown hair, slip out after him, only to return in a few minutes. He sat down companionably across from Rhodry without so much as a by-your-leave.
“You were right to turn him down, Silver Dagger. I just talked to the idiot, and he let it slip that this enemy of his is a noble lord.” The thief rolled his eyes heavenward.